Big Hair

I’ve just had the misfortune of spending two and a half days in Rotorua for a work conference. I say misfortune for three reasons,

1. It was Rotorua – although a spiritual and powerful place once, it’s now simply a rough and ready town with lots of rough and ready people and smelly gases spewing from the earth (I was well equipped to deal with those having lived with Scott for close to 15 years now)

2. It was a work conference. I can see, after being subjected to two days of company brainwashing, why most of the civilized world thinks real estate agents are liars and rogues. When the company is the biggest liar of the lot, what bloody hope is there for the rest of us??

3. The third, and in my book, most dreadful of the three misfortunes, was BIG frizzy, unmanageable hair. My hair, having recently been chemically altered to provide wild and wonderful curls (ok ok, in simple terms, I’ve had it permed, I just didn’t wanna tell anyone that…) went from being wild and wonderful to a friggen frizzy nightmare that would make Einstein proud. I guess it’s the water down there, or the smelly gases or a combination of both, I don’t know for sure but whatever it was, my hair bloody hated it and I hated my hair.

Thankfully I’m now safely back in Auckland town where the water has enough chemical of its own to kill any other unwanted stuff that makes your hair frizzy. Thank the gods, curls and order have been restored and I can now get back to worry about the important things in life like the luggage under my eyes and the crows feet beside them…